In the Ice
by CoralReef89
Summary: HTTYD drabbles. Part 4: "She thinks it might be the last thing she ever hears—Hiccup's horrified, disbelieving voice. She knows what he's feeling. She's been on the other side of this too many times—watching Hiccup risk his life, thinking he's not going to make it. Well, now it's her turn. " HiccupxAstrid
1. In The Ice

It all slows.

Or maybe, up until now, everything has just been going too fast and he never realized it. His mother, the ice breathing Alphas, Drago, the army, his...his father. Too fast...

He's not fearless like his father.

He's going to die.

The dark Alpha's slitted eyes are turned on him, and Toothless is quivering, still fighting off its influence. It parts it jaw and lets loose an icy exhale, and all of the chaos and panic and terror suddenly slides to a halt, becoming as frozen as the Alpha's breath.

The battle is motionless around him—weapons about to be drawn, catapults in mid launch, dragons spewing molten fire, Drago's head raised upward as he let out a blood-curdling wail. Astrid is letting loose an arrow. It takes more time to spot Valka; her shape and height aren't as familiar too him as he wishes they were.

They're all too far away. He can't hold onto them like he wants to.

But Toothless is right here in this moment with him, curled around him, chest rising and falling against his back in panting breaths the move in time with his own.

And then, everything turns cold. Colder than anything he's ever felt before, which is saying a lot coming from a kid raised in Berk. It's the kind of cold that slips right into you like a knife. Toothless slams into him and his legs give out. A second later his realizes his can't see anything anymore. Maybe because his face is pressed against the underside of Toothless's black belly, or because the sheet of ice around them doesn't let any light through. It doesn't really matter, so he just closes his eyes; it all looks the same no matter what.

There's no sound in here, or sight, or smell, but he can _feel_ everything. He knows seconds are passing by and he's just lying here breathing. What a lousy way to die.

His cheek is pressed hard against Toothless's chest. He can feel the dragon's heart flying, it's pace uneven. He flattens his palm against the scaly skin. _It's okay_.

Well, what a lie, it's not okay, but it just... _is_.

The heartbeat slows. He counts them, times his breaths to them.

_It's okay._

Repeating the phrase in his mind isn't enough to convince himself, but he hopes maybe Toothless will sense his calm and follow suit.

He loves a lot of people on Berk. Every one of its citizens, in a way; that comes with being a chief, or at the least the son of one. He loves Astrid. He loved his father. He think he might have been able to love Valka.

But Toothless isn't like that. He found and named and loved that dragon before anyone else. Even when the entire island of Berk made him feel like a pathetic weakling, he rode on Toothless and he felt like the strongest, bravest, most invincible Viking to ever live.

Toothless's heartbeat resembles something closer to normal now. Maybe Hiccup's soothing worked, or maybe not, and it's just the cold catching up with them and slowing their hearts until they finally stop. He guesses that the temperature will kill them before anything else. But he doesn't really feel that bone-splitting chill anymore. Maybe dying is kind like that—comfortable. He hopes so. He hopes Stoick didn't feel any pain.

He presses his palm harder against Toothless: _It's okay._ He feels Toothless's ribs expand and push back: _Love you_.

He's not cold at all now—warm even. It feels like summer on Berk, when the sun is highest and everything is bright and the sky is blue instead of it's usual grey.

Kind of like _now_.

He shoves his palm away from Toothess's skin. A second later, his brain catches up to the instinctual movement, and he realizes his hand is stinging like it does when he accidentally brushes it on the white-hot metal he's molding in Gobber's shop.

Toothless curls his limbs in, pushing Hiccup more tightly beneath him. A bead of sweat slides down his temple and catches on a dimple on his cheek.

The dragon exhales a long, long breath. It feels like air escaping from a fireplace when you pull back the metal screen. It fills every crevice in the tiny gap and stuffs their bubble in the ice with smoldering heat. _It's okay_, he feels.

He starts to believe it.

And the ice bursts apart.

* * *

Thank you for reading. Reviews are so kind.


	2. Totally Hot

Thanks for the really sweet comments guys! Some people asked for more, so here's another shot!

* * *

Even though now he wears it like a badge of honor, even after _everything_, he is still reminded, every time he hears his name.

There is a tradition here on Berk, that the runt of the litter—the smallest one, the weakling who never made it to full size or strength—is named a 'hiccup'. A mistake.

Hiccup thinks of it like this: maybe the gods were going from baby to baby, infusing them with proper Viking-like fury and matching bulging biceps, when—_hiccup_—the gods got distracted and skipped right over him, the little son of Berk's chief, the future leader of the Hooligan tribe. Whoops. _Hiccup_.

Valka tells it a bit differently: he was born early into the world, tiny and frail, fated to die as quickly as he had been birthed, when the gods smiled down upon her son and breathed life into him, and gave him a glorious destiny to be fulfilled.

Well, he'll never know what the gods had in mind, but he does know that, glorious destiny or not, the muscles never grew in.

He's not vain. It's just that he has a girlfriend.

Astrid isn't vain either. He's so happy that she loves him for his mind, and everything that he is inside. But he wants her to look at him and feel that stirring in her stomach like he feels when he sees her. That warm, physical attraction that is something entirely different than appreciating someone's courage or wit. He wants the best for Astrid, and he wants her to be happy with him, in every way possible.

He tells her as much, when they're sitting alone next to the fireplace in his home. She comes by more often these days; she says it's because she knows he'll do something crazy and stupid and dangerous if he's left alone too long, but he thinks she might just be trying to save him from having to go through the worst of grieving for a father alone.

"Hiccup," she says, tone scolding, and he winces because,_ there_, he's reminded of what he is _again_. "You can't be serious."

"I'm just saying," he defends, "I know, when people look at us together, they think..." He frowns at her withering expression. "I know what you're going to say. But this isn't about me, or my confidence. I'm just saying, when people first see me, before I prove to them what I can do, they'll still see the hiccup first. I can handle that. I can keep on proving myself. But I know that, if we, well, you know," he nods vaguely at her hand, entwined with his, and casts a pointed look at her ring finger, "well, you'll have to... see me a lot, and... I just want to make sure."

Okay, it sounds a lot like a confidence problem when he says it out loud.

He expects her to jab her fist into his gut, like she always does when he starts spewing out stuff like this, but she just tightens her grip on his hands.

"Hiccup," she says, and he_ likes_ the way the name sounds when she says it like that. "You know what I see when I look at you? Just physically, no emotions involved? Totally, honestly."

He gives her a crooked smile. "A six foot twig missing a leg?" He says it like he's joking, but, well...

"I see this guy who's small and thin and doesn't look anything like anyone is supposed to on Berk..." he frowns, "...because he was never meant to stay on Berk. I look at you, and I see someone who is made for something more than living and dying on this rocky island. You were born for the sky."

He looks into the fire, because if he looks at her he might just burst.

"My gods, look at you, Hiccup. You're not the fastest just because you ride on a Night Fury. You're lithe. You cut through the wind. You were _built_ for this. You're _made_ to fly."

"I love you."

It's not the first time he's said it, but it's the first time he's said it and felt like: this is a promise.

"And…" she drones on, "I happen to find you pretty hot. Very attractive."

"Oh gods…" He feels the edges of his ears turning pink. "Please, don't. Now I just feel pathetic."

"I'm serious! Like, totally hot. Smoking—"

He stops her by slamming his lips against hers.

"Shut. Up.," he murmurs into her mouth.

"This is pretty hot too."

He laughs, and she wraps her arms around his torso and presses her cheek to his chest, listening to the sound.

"I love you too," she sighs.

She's said it before, too, but it's first time she's said it that it feels like: this is only the beginning.


	3. For Now

"You stupid, stubborn, ridiculous, insane, stupid, reckless, _stupid_..."

"I get it," he mutters, hoarsely. "I'm stupid."

"Don't be too hard on him, now, dear." Valka ducks her chin to hide a smile as she wrings out a cloth over a bowl of warm water. "He needs his strength."

Astrid thins her lips, still red faced and clearly itching for a fight, but she holds back. "Fine." She sweeps her bangs back from her eyes and fixes an unfriendly glare on Hiccup.

"Come on, Astrid," Hiccup grits. His brows are knit together and his jaw is clenched, but still, he manages a hint of a smile and _more_ than a hint of sarcasm as he says, "I thought you didn't mind the peg-leg! What's one more?"

"Shut up!" she snaps. "How many times do I have to watch you narrowly avoid death?"

"But you have to admit, I do a pretty great job of avoiding it." This time he manages a full grin.

"_Hiccup_..." But there's less bite in her tone this time, and he thinks she might be biting back a smile too.

Valka lets loose a laugh, drifting across the room to stand beside his bed. There's something untamed and wild about her tall, willowy frame that Hiccup can never separate from the woman she's become since settling back on Berk—a proper, domestic, Viking mother. "Hush now, let me take a look at your leg."

She rolls away the fabric of his breeches from his good leg—well, what was his good leg. The skin around his ankle is tight and stained black and blue. She runs her long fingers across it. "I don't think you've broken anything. You're very lucky. A fall from that high could have easily killed you."

Hiccup looks a bit too pleased at this. He smirks at Astrid. "See? I_ told_ you I'd be—"

"Hiccup!" She takes the damp cloth from Valka's hands and presses it to his temple to wipe away the sweat and grime. "Didn't you hear what she said? You could have _died_."

This time Hiccup catches it—the waver in her voice. Sometimes she's so good at aggression that he forgets something else might be hiding underneath it.

"Hey," he says. Aware that Valka is still beside them, he shifts his hand a few inches until his fingers brush against hers. "We're Vikings. It's an occupational hazard."

Astrid sighs heavily, like she's fed up with his sarcasm, but he thinks it might be partially out of relief too. The thing about Astrid is she hates to show weakness or fear, but he's getting better at reading her. "You must not be too badly hurt if you have the energy for this many bad jokes," she quips.

He chuckles, and this time Astrid joins in.

His laugh turns into a moan as Valka lifts his foot. She starts to wrap a cloth tightly around it, pressing down against the tender spot on his ankle. Astrid's fingers find their way beneath his and interlock.

"Remind me," he hisses through clenched teeth, "never to jump off a dragon again."

Astrid rolls her eyes. "I would if I thought you'd listen."

Valka ties off the bandage and sets his foot back down. "You'll be staying off of it, for a few days, at least."

"A few days? But _mom_—"

"No one wants to see you wobbling around the village like a newborn fawn, son."

Hiccup scrunches his face, this time not in pain, but with embarrassment at Valka's excessive nurturing. Stoick was never one to coddle; he was more the type to say that the best way to deal with an injured leg was to walk it off. He's still getting used to his mother's way about things.

"I'll go get more water," Valka says quietly, and she wanders from the room, leaving the door ajar.

As soon as Valka is out of sight, Astrid's posture slackens, her whole body shifting closer to him. "I know what you're thinking."

He raises an eyebrow. "Oh, you do?"

"You're thinking, _flying dragons is technically staying off my feet_." The line is coupled by her best Hiccup Haddock impression, complete with exaggerated nasal voice and flailing arms.

"That doesn't even sound like me," he groans, but they've had this discussion before. "And that wasn't what I was thinking."

She looks at him closely. "What are you thinking, then?"

"That I'm really glad you're here," he says, tightening his grip on her hand. He lifts it and places it on his chest, over his heart. "What are _you_ thinking, Milady?"

Her stormy eyes soften in a way he's only ever seen when they're alone. "Oh, Hiccup," she murmurs, and suddenly she looks as if she's about to cry.

"Hey, what? What's wrong?" He's more than a bit shocked. Even around him, Astrid still guards her emotions so closely. He can't remember the last time he saw her shed a tear.

He tugs on her arm and she comes willingly, falling against him, head pressing into the crook between his head and shoulder. "I was scared. I thought you had really..."

"I'm fine," he promises.

"I know." She exhales a warm breath against his neck. "I know that. I just..." Her voice hitches, and she pushes her weight up onto her elbows so she can look into his eyes. "It's like, back when you were fighting off Drago, and the Alpha covered you in ice... There was this moment, when I thought I had just watched you die. I thought I was really going to have to live without you. And I don't _want _to."

She's never told him this before. He wasn't sure if she'd even seen it happen—after all, a battle had been raging around them. But, in that moment, he had been pretty sure he was about to die too.

"I like who I am around you," she admits, looking down at him with wide eyes. Some of her blonde hair has come loose from her braid, falling past her face and skimming his cheeks. "I don't want to lose that. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

He knows how much courage it must be taking her to say this out loud—how much this must be grating on her for her to admit it. He usually has to weed these things out of her like fallen metal scraps from a still blazing fire. "Me too," he whispers. "We're... we're in this together, you know?"

The both laugh at how silly that statement sounds. But, at the same time, it sends shivers down his spine, because the thought of Astrid maybe wanting to spend the rest of her life with him too is exhilarating.

"Right," Astrid declares, looking much more put together as she lifts herself back into a sitting position beside him. "And that means it's my job to make sure you don't go doing something stupid in the next few days. Like try to take a joyride on a Night Fury when both your legs are out of commission."

"Alright, alright, I hear you," he concedes, rolling his eyes for emphasis. But he keeps his fingers pressed against hers, a reminder of the moment that just passed between them.

It's then that Valka finds her way back into the room, arms filled with a bowl brimming with steaming water. Astrid stands up to help her lower it onto the table.

"Thank you, dear," she says, patting a hand against Astrid's arm. She turns away to douse another cloth into the liquid, but not before Hiccup catches the glint of a tear slipping down her cheek. She brushes a palm past her face, and it's gone.

Hiccup doesn't know what she's crying for—if she heard Astrid and him speaking, or if she's remembering Stoick, or becoming overwhelmed at life on Berk again. Or something else entirely—it's so hard to tell, when there are still so many things about Valka that he doesn't know yet.

But they're all here, together, for now, and that is good enough.

* * *

Thanks all who have been reading and reviewing, so sweet! If anyone has any suggestions for more drabbles, do let me know, because inspiration is always the hardest part.


	4. Hero

"Astrid, no!"

She thinks it might be the last thing she ever hears—Hiccup's horrified, disbelieving voice. She knows what he's feeling. She's been on the other side of this too many times—watching Hiccup risk his life, thinking he's not going to make it. Well, now it's her turn.

She darts forward, and immediately she is engulfed in smoke so thick it's impossible to see her own hands. She gropes blindly for the walls of the wooden ship. If only she'd taken a deeper breath before throwing herself into the fire; already, her lungs feel dry and filled with ash.

"Hello?" she calls out over the sound of crackling flames and splitting wood. "Hello!"

Her eyes are stinging, but she keeps them pried open, scanning in every direction for another glimpse into the smoke, a hint of where to move.

Then she sees it. Something green, a piece of cloth—a tunic, sweaty and clinging to someone's back—bunched against the floorboards. A man, collapsed, maybe dead or maybe still alive. Gods, she hopes alive.

She dives towards him, slamming against the deck just as part of the ship's mast gives in and sends fragments of blazing wood down on her shoulders.

She takes the brunt of it against her back, but he is safe below her. She can see his face now; he's a middle-aged man, perhaps her father's age. His skin is red and his hair is sooty and she can't focus enough to see if he's still breathing.

Something groans above them—another piece of the boat sagging down in preparation to snap.

"Hold on," she croaks, and grabs hold of his shoulders. The air around them is so hot it feels like a solid wall, crushing against her and pulling her deeper into the flames. But years of rigorous training make her muscles work like fine-tuned machines. She drags herself and the weight of the older man across the floorboards, back in the direction she_ thinks_ she came in. Everything looks the same from down here.

"Astrid! Astrid, where are you?"

Hiccup. His voice sounds distant, like an echo. She opens her mouth to call back. Bad idea. All she gets is a mouthful of smoke that makes her fall to the deck in a fit of coughs.

The wood that had been threatening to snap above their heads finally gives in with a sick crunch, and a piece of wood larger than she is comes hurtling down. It lands only a few feet away, colliding with the ground so hard it fractures the floorboards and warps the whole deck. The impact sends gusts of air and flame in every direction.

Orange and red and pure _hot _overtakes her vision, and then, with the feeling of soot crawling down her throat, and the man's unconscious hand still in hers, she loses herself, and the world slips away.

* * *

White light pries open her eyelids. She squints against it, lifting a hand to shield her face from it, but the hand that comes towards her isn't the one she remembers. It's a mess of red, puckered skin and rolls of tightly wound cloth.

She gasps. The fire. There had been a horrible fire to a merchant ship carrying food supplies just outside of Berk's harbor—they could see the rising smoke even from the shoreline—and she and the other dragon riders had flown out in aid. There had been so much smoke. And, as they flew above the flotsam, she'd caught the glimpse of a man, hidden somewhere deep in the flames, before he disappeared again behind the wall of black air.

Had she really jumped into the wreckage after him? It feels more like a dream than a memory.

She shakes the hazy thoughts from her mind. Where is Hiccup? He was there, in the fire, too. She'd heard him calling for her.

She bolts upward, and something heavy shifts from her stomach. Confused, she peers down into her lap and sees a mess of thick brown hair.

Relief washes over her, and she finally allows herself to take a slow, calming breath. The tension slips from her limbs. It's that feeling she gets whenever he's with her: Everything will be all right.

Her movement jostles him awake, and he cranes his neck, blinking up at her through baggy, sleep-crusted eyes. "As'rd...?"

She waits patiently as he rubs his face and squints at her. "Astrid… _Astrid!_" Then he shoots upright so fast he falls backward and off the bed.

He recovers quickly and rights himself, brushing off his clothes—half of his sooty riding armor is still on. Breathing hard, he leans down, gazing down at her with wide eyes. A second passes, green eyes meeting blue, and then—no warning—he's bent down and his lips are on hers, firm, but careful.

He pulls back too soon. "Ugh, I'm sorry," he mutters, the tips of his ears turning red. "That was dumb. You must feel..."

He still always acts so surprised with himself when he initiates their kisses. Part of her wants to order him to lean down again and finish what he started. But there are other questions pressing down on her mind.

"What happened?" It's the first thing she's said aloud since waking up, and her voice sounds thick and strange.

Hiccup reaches for her bandaged hand and holds it gingerly in his own, not putting any pressure on it. He's being so gentle with her—she must be in bad shape. "Uh, the boat wreckage. You jumped into the fire after a sailor. No one else had seen him yet. You saved his life, Astrid."

Her heart falters in her chest. "He was alive?"

"He's going to be fine. His name is Vaun. He's got a wife and a daughter."

"Oh." She thinks about this for a moment—she's saved a man's life—and then she cracks a smile. "Heh. You're rubbing off on me, I guess."

Hiccup quirks an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She grins at him. "The flying off to do crazy, dangerous stunts… risking your life… Always being the hero, the Pride of Berk… Honestly, it was getting old. Someone had to steal your thunder."

"I think you're delusional," Hiccup grunts. "But the only hero around here today's you."

His expression is filled with something like pride, or respect. It makes her chest swell. She didn't realize how much she wanted this—to feel just as brave and strong as he is. To feel like his equal. To feel like she deserves him.

"I'm in pretty bad shape, huh? I must look like a troll."

"Well you've still got both your legs, so I'd say you did alright. Would've been cool, though, right? Hiccup and Astrid, the dynamic duo! Only together do they have enough limbs to constitute as a full person."

"Shut up!" She smacks him on the chest, but probably does more damage to her tender skin than to him.

"No, really! You're looking hotter than ever, M'lady. Or maybe _scorched_ is a better word."

She tries to smack him again, but her muscles are starting to ache, so she relaxes back into her pillow, pulling his hand to her chest. "Hiccup… I heard you calling my name. You came into the fire after me."

"Oh, you know me. Just looking to steal the glory."

"Would it kill you to be serious for a moment?" she scolds lightly, although it's pointless. He could snark his way to Valhalla and back without missing a beat.

"Okay, fine, serious..." he says, bending down close and squeezing her hand. "What did you think I would do? You know I'm always right behind you. You and me, we've got each other's backs."

"I know," she says. "I'm just really glad you're alright."

"Look who's talking!" Hiccup waves a hand in front of her face. "Half the village is outside right now, waiting to hear if you're okay. They're planning a feast in your honor, you know. We've got a lot of fried food to get through."

She groans. "Okay, okay. But let's deal with that later. For now, just… kiss me again?"

Hiccup smiles wide. "I can do that." Then he shifts himself onto the bed beside her, pulling her blanket forward so it covers her shoulders again. And he leans down, and captures her lips.


	5. Contract

It happens at supper, next to the hearth. Valka is sitting across the table, picking at her last bit of mutton—Hiccup had been busy pushing it around his plate in attempts to make it look eaten—when she suddenly drops her fork and looks at him urgently. "That girl loves you."

Hiccup nearly chokes on the mead he'd been drinking to wash away the taste of poorly cooked meat. "Wha—who?"

"Astrid!" she replies, full of sudden determination. "I swore to myself I wouldn't get involved. I promised myself I wouldn't—and I'm sorry. I know I lost my right to advise you when I left. But son—"

Bewildered, Hiccup leans back in his seat. A few seconds ago they'd been having a quiet, peaceful meal. Now Valka's running her hands through her hair and worrying her lip like she's just thought of something horrible.

"Son, that girl loves you. Why haven't you drafted a contract?"

"With Astrid?" Hiccup says again, for clarification, still not exactly sure what his mother is getting at.

"If you could hear the way she talks about you. The way her voice changes when she says your name. She lights up whenever you're mentioned."

"Really?" Now he's wondering if Valka has actually gone mad. It's not that he doubts Astrid loves him, it's just, Astrid's not like that. She's not sentimental. She's punched him more times than they've actually kissed. "It'd be nice if she could save some of that lovey-dovey stuff for when I'm actually _around_."

Valka raises an imploring eyebrow. "Are you unsure of her? Do you care for someone else?"

"Of course not!" Hiccup sits up so fast the table rattles. "We know we're promised. We're just _waiting_."

"For what?"

Hiccup opens his mouth, ready to explain _exactly_ what… and then, he realizes, he doesn't actually know.

He'd been sure she was it for him since he was fourteen… Hel, even before that. She was the only girl he'd ever wanted to be with. Of course he was going to marry her.

But they were young. There was time. Why did they have to rush just to sign a piece of paper?

"Hiccup." The fight flies straight out of Valka and she looks almost embarrassed with herself. "I'm an old woman. And things have changed, I know that. I suppose it's strange of me, to worry about tradition when I've been gone so long... But when I was a girl, it was a disrespect to the lady's family not to negotiate a contract. It was incorrect."

Hiccup frowns. Of course he's not disrespecting Astrid—that's the last thing he'd ever do. And things _have_ changed. But, well, if he's being totally honest with himself… maybe not _that_ much.

"I just thought we could take our time," he explains, sitting back down at the table, head swimming. "Things are still so… you know. Crazy."

Valka almost smiles. "You're a chief. Things will always be crazy. But you might find you'd like someone to help you shoulder the burden."

Hiccup look up at her in surprise. When did his mother get so sage about relationships?

Valka walks across the table and puts a hand on his shoulder. "You're a wandering spirit, son. You could fly off and search the entire world over and never feel satisfied. Trust me, I've tried myself." She places another maternal hand on his cheek, and it's warm and comforting and grounding. Sometimes it's hard to believe he ever went so long without a mother.

"I promise this is the last I'll say of it," she swears. "I see so much of myself in you, and that brings me such joy. You're just as I was when I was young. But I've made my mistakes. I made mistakes with your father..." Her expression grows wistful. "Oh, I held him off as long as I could. There was so much time we could have had." She smiles, and her eyes are a bit misty. "And then I lost so much time with you. I was so blind... I know this now. The least I can do is pass on my wisdom. Don't waste a precious moment of what you already have. That girl is waiting on you. Maybe it's time to settle down."

And then she pats his cheek and lets him go, drifting away so that he's left alone, staring into the hearth.


End file.
